Pick the Pieces Up
by D McVetty
Summary: An accident takes Kyle's life, and Cartman is left to wonder how it is they came to be so close. /Kyman, character death
1. Chapter 1

**chapter ;;** Pick the Pieces Up

**rating ;; **T for swearing, sexual themes, South Park, Cartman's mouth, and all those other things.

**summary ;; **Eric and Kyle have hated each other since grade school. It makes perfect sense that they hook up in drunken ideology and choose to go through with it in secret. Is Eric ready for a relationship, or is he going to break Kyle's heart?

**info ;; **This is not my very first Kyman story, but it is certainly the first one I'm putting full effort into. I'd like reviews on anything I can improve or elaborate on. I will not update until there are at least three reviews. I'm cautious with this, as I know exactly where it is going and I would greatly appreciate if I had some feedback. A song inspired the baseline idea of the story, in a very roundabout way. Perhaps through later chapters I'll mention it, but for now it will remain classified information. Thank you for reading, and I hope you enjoy it greatly!**  
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**WARNING :** Cartman/Kyle romance. Character death.

* * *

Kyle's eyes are straight ahead, watching the road with rapt attention. Red curls fall around his face, almost cover his emerald eyes, stopping short of his firmly clenched jaw. Set in a scowl, the Jewish teenager doesn't look at his passenger. They've said everything they needed to say at the motel, and Kyle doesn't want to push things further. Hands on ten and two, just as he learned in drivers ed, he notes the deer standing still in the ditch, choosing to speed by the animal before it has the chance to decide it wants to run across the road. No doubt his companion of the evening has noticed his reckless driving. Kyle was the careful, helpful Jewish boy who drove like an eighty year old grandpa.

Tonight is the exception.

Tonight, he is upset, and for once, his companion knows it. The chubby teen stares out the passenger window, leans against it, wearing a thick winter jacket only Colorado would require. A bucket of KFC sits between them on the seat of the old pickup, but neither is any bit hungry. Faint over the sound of the truck's engine, a cover of _Bad Company_ drones on, the lyrics lost in the chug of exhaust.

"Cartman, we really need to talk," Kyle says, the volume of his own voice surprising himself.

Cartman looks across the seat, noting the lack of attention from the Jewish teenager. Not once has he looked Cartman's way, despite aiming a conversation at him. Rolling his eyes, the passenger sighs and looks back out the window. He's gotten himself in deep this time, and no amount of talking or bullying can get himself out. No, this time his problems are all his own, not that he wants to deal with any of them. Some inner instinct tells him Kyle is distressed, but doesn't give him a way to remedy it. He's spent his whole life making Kyle's miserable. To be doing the opposite was nearly unthinkable.

Then what are their continued trips into Denver?

The chubby brunette snorts, shaking his head as the thoughts cross his mind once again. He tries desperately to convince himself the trips aren't what they are, that he still hates Kyle with everything he is, that he can never care about the Jewish rat behind the wheel. Kyle thought, after the sex, things would be different. Cartman made sure they were the same. With a final year in High School, he isn't keen on being called a _faggot_, getting his own medicine thrown back at him. There is a terrifying reputation to uphold with his name on it, and he knows being gay will completely null everything he's done since grade school. Feeding his own father to his half-brother at a chile-con-carnival, or commanding legions of die-hard Christians to kill the Jews, don't have the same kick when the evil-doer was really gay the whole time. People aren't afraid of gays, they kill them.

"Cartman," Kyle reminds sternly.

"What do you want to talk about?" Cartman asks. He turns to look at Kyle, who adverts his gaze back to the road quickly. "I told you, so get over it. I'm over it. Look, over it. Done. Do the same."

Kyle shifts his jaw, biting his lip. A nervous habit picked up in freshman year, when things were less complicated. When you _didn't _have sex with your arch-enemy at Token's drunken party. When your feelings didn't drop on your head like a weight, threatening to crush you if you didn't do anything. Simpler times, in the simplest terms. Yet he cant bring himself to drop it. He simply wont allow Cartman to get off one more time. His whole life, he's gotten by for free. Time to pay up for his mistakes.

"I'm not dropping it, fat ass," he says, slowing down for the stop sign ahead. At two in the morning, he doesn't think anyone will be out, but in South Park, one can never be sure. He knows Stark's Pond is down the road, and he knows that once they pass the small body of water, he cant talk to Cartman about what happened. Denver is their Vegas, and he cant break that rule. Luckily, he doesn't have to, not for this. "But that's _not_ what we have to talk about, either."

Cartman perks up at this, arching a thick eyebrow in curiosity. "Oh yeah?" he asks. "What do we have to talk about?"

Kyle goes silent. The road turns lazily, and he follows it with more attention than necessary. Ahead, the lane narrows and thick white fog billows from the low land surrounding Stark's Pond. Kyle considers his options before letting off the gas slowly, pressing into the thick water vapor with the large truck. He's been driving for a year now, and he knows conditions in South Park. When there's fog, there's no telling what lays beneath.

"If you're going to stay silent, turn the radio up, Jew. I hate the quiet," Cartman groans, turning back to the window, fully expecting the music to turn up by Kyle's obedient hand.

Kyle reaches down to the stereo, a sigh escaping his lips. Taking his eyes off the road for a moment, he presses at the buttons, hitting the wrong one in the dark. After changing the station three times, he finally hits the volume, turning up a familiar song. Not one of his favorites, but one that makes him smile, anyway. He turns his eyes back to the road in time to spot the deer.

Standing pristine along the yellow dashes, the pale animal's antlers raise into the fog, his legs lost in swirling white. Its head turns, and it stops mid-step as the lights hit it, reflecting it's widened eyes. Kyle shouts, grabbing the wheel and slamming on the brakes. Cartman jerks forward in his seat, restrained by the seat belt as it snares his chest, biting into his shoulder. In a moment of panic, Kyle jerks the wheel, narrowly missing the deer on the passenger side as it bolts back into the ditch, flopping white tail disappearing in the darkness and fog.

The damage has been done, and Kyle can feel the wheels of the truck slipping in the slick dew, bringing him closer to the edge of the road. Slamming the wheels into the slide, Kyle lets off the gas and prays to regain control of the vehicle. It straightens out, then goes into another fishtail. After a heart-stopping battle with the wheel, the pair feel the driver's side wheels slip off the paved road, catching in the gravel. Kyle and Cartman brace against the interior of the truck as it groans, flipping over into the ditch. It tumbles once more before landing upside down, half submerged in Stark's Pond.

Cartman coughs, gurgles, struggles against the seat belt before hearing a thick _snap_ and falling to the ceiling of the truck. His eyes flutter open, droop closed, and darkness overtakes him.

* * *

Lights pass by evenly, casting him in a glow and taking it away. Plastic cuts into his face, his arms feel heavy, a weight is pressing into his chest and gut. Everywhere, there's shaking. Every bone in his body feels like it will shake right out, fall on the ground, and shake right off the end of the world. The plastic digging into his face hurts, and he struggles to bring his hands up, to remove the offending object, but he can't feel them. He gasps for breath, tasting sweet oxygen as it fills his lungs, but this is no euphoria he feels. Every part of his body is numb, dead, and the lights keep passing, the world keeps shaking.

"_...ten cc's of morphine._"

"_That's too much, he'll..._"

Something presses onto his forehead, and he tries to fight it, but a pressure around his neck stops him from moving. Cracking open his eyes, he squints against the lights as they pass overhead. His eyes adjust slowly, bringing the world into murky focus, showing him the breathing mask attached to his face, the white thermal sheet over his body, the white-coated doctors rushing him on the gurney. His mind makes sense of this, and his body relaxes even if his mind is still trying to work out the pieces.

"_He's awake!"_

"_Give him more."_

The sweet scent of oxygen faded, giving way to a foul smell as it pumps through the hose. A part of his consciousness knows what it is. Sleeping gas. He knows there are things he needs to do. He needs to go back to the truck, he needs to call for help. His instinct is to fight the gas, and he tries his hardest, but the nurses and doctors outnumber him. He slumps against the gurney in defeat, eyes closing as he accepts the gas.

* * *

The light isn't as harsh. It stays in one spot, coming from his right. His breathing is low and long, his head is aching, his right leg is completely numb, part of his face feels like burning water. An itch on his neck brings his hand up, scratching at it. A device attached to his finger gets in the way, and he takes it back to look at it. It glows red, clamped onto his index finger with the use of a tiny spring. Events click into place, and he jolts forward, pulling at wires stuck to his back. An alarm sounds, but his mind is on one thing. He puts his feet over the side of the hospital bed, touching the floor and teetering towards the door. He grabs the side of the bed for stability, splashing bright red across the white sheets. Confusion passes his face as he tries to grasp the red. He looks down at his wrist, sees the blood running from a tiny pin-prick, turns to see the IV dangling uselessly from the bag.

The door opens, two nurses file in quickly, cornering him against the bed. He holds his injured wrist out, staring at them blankly, before collapsing on the floor. His head hits the bed, and he curses, struggling to get on his feet once more. The younger nurse helps him, grabs him under the pit and pulls him up and onto the bed. It isn't good enough. He tries to push off the bed again, but she stops him.

"Please, you can't be walking around right now. You need to heal," she says, nodding as she pats his shoulder gently.

"Where's Kyle?" he mumbles, voice slurred with drugs and pain and who knows what.

The woman hesitates, looking to the other nurse for assistance.

He looks up at her, sees her green eyes swimming in and out of focus. "Where is Kyle?" he repeats angrily.

"Um, I'm not authorized to answer that question. I can bring the doctor in..."

Reaching out and grabbing the woman's smock, he fumbles and pulls the shirt down. He winces as the woman's name-pin opens, poking into his skin. "Where the fuck is the Jew, whore?" he demands.

The older nurse steps in, removing his hand and relieving the younger of her duties. She grabs Cartman's wrist, placing a new IV into the spot the last had pulled free from. She refits the pulse monitor on the boy's finger and looks up at him. "I'm sorry, Mr. Cartman, but the driver was killed. I'm not authorized to release any more information. Would you like me to send in a doctor?" she asked.

Cartman took his hand back, sunk into the bed. Suddenly, his world has turned upside down, and he has nowhere to turn. The nurses wait to see what he will do before leaving the room cautiously. The news sinks in the more he repeats it in his head. The more he thinks about it, the more he can see the deer as it runs off, the tail flapping wildly side to side, waving goodbye to the accident it created. He sees the window shield crack and spider out from the center as the world outside turns upside down. He remembers hearing Kyle shout out, but the words are garbled in his mind. A split second that he didn't listen, that he was too busy with his own problems and his own life.

He doesn't want to talk anymore. He doesn't want to go back to the truck. He doesn't want to go home, and he doesn't want to stay in the hospital. Every option he has is the wrong option, and he has the feeling that is the way it will be until the day he dies.

For once in his life, Eric Cartman doesn't know what he wants.

But back up, wait.

This isn't the beginning of the story.


	2. Chapter 2

**info ;;** Hello, again! Thank you to all the lovely reviews! I'm sorry I wasn't able to respond individually, I've had quite a horrid internet connection lately. I hope you all enjoy this next chapter, and I hope it lives up to expectations. If there are problems, let me know. If you like it, let me know. If you think its a big pile of steamy poo, also let me know.

**warnings/disclaimers ;;** I have neglected both of these in the past, my apologies. This contains boy love, between Cartman and Kyle, and contains a semi-steamy scene between the two. Or multiple steamy scenes... however you want to look at it. In any case, I dont own them, but you all knew that already. Please enjoy.

* * *

"What do you want, fatass?" Kyle asks in irritation.

"Oh, no, I was just wondering..."

"Spit it out, Cartman, what do you want?"

Cartman snubs his toe in the dirt, looking down as if he's been reprimanded by a stern parent. "Its _really_ not important."

Kyle throws his hands in the air, rolling his eyes. He has gone through this act with Cartman time and time again. This is nothing different than the usual. Whatever the fat teen has to say, it will bring everyone into some kind of ridiculous scheme for money and Kyle will be screwed over in the end. There has never been another outcome, and he knows it. "I'm going home. And _don't_ you try to follow me. I don't want to deal with your shit," he says, glaring at Cartman before turning and walking away.

For a moment, Cartman stays still, watching the Jew walk away from the greatest offer of his entire life. Being the naturally helpful person he is, Cartman followed Kyle quickly, catching up to the Jew with a heavy huff. "Wait, Kyle, seriously, this is the best offer I've _ever _made to you."

Having recently passed his drivers test, and being the only friend of the quartet carrying a valid drivers license, Kyle has his doubts. He frowns, stopping mid-step and examining Eric's face for a hint of a lie. It's usually there in his eyes, or right where his eyebrows knit together in his most concentrated face. Kyle knows Eric like the back of his hand, and he's learned to avoid offers at all costs. Of course, that doesn't mean he can't _hear_ the offers.

Cartman grins ear to ear. "I knew you'd see it my way," he chuckles, putting his arm over Kyle's shoulders. Since grade school, the pair had changed in height. Cartman stands a full foot taller, and has lost much of his baby-fat. What is left, now, is nothing more than muscle and KFC deposits.

"Just get to it, already," Kyle warns, shoving the arm away from his shoulders.

"Of _course_. _Anything_ for you, Kyle." Cartman moves to stand in front of Kyle, putting his hands together and clearing his throat. "Now, you see Kyle, what I have is a problem, and what you have is a solution to that problem. Token is having a party tonight, in Denver. Now, I know what you're thinking, Kyle, and I have to explain myself. They're going to Casa Bonita."

Kyle scoffs in irritation, rolling his eyes and almost walking away. But he hasn't gotten to the good part yet, and he's secretly quite interested in Cartman's offer. So he stays.

"Good, you know what that means then," Cartman says quietly, deathly serious. "Free Casa Bonita. I can't pass that up, and neither can you, Kyle. That's why I went to you first. If you drive me to Token's party, I will pay you _five dollars_."

Kyle laughs sharply, surprising himself. "Yeah right, fatass. Five dollars isn't anything anymore. I put twenty into my truck every week. You're going to have to try harder."

Cartman searches his shorter companion for a way around his decision. As Kyle begins to walk around him, Cartman holds his hands out. "Wait, Kyle, _ten dollars_. You can't pass that up. Free food _and_ ten dollars. You'd be going against every Jewish instinct in your head if you say no."

Kyle pushes past him. "No, Cartman."

"Kyle, you can't ignore this offer. Ten dollars, Kyle! Free food at Casa Bonita, Kyle!" Cartman hurries behind the Jew, desperately throwing offers at him as they walk off the school grounds. "I know you're fighting it, but give in. What can one trip to Denver hurt?"

Kyle stops dead, and Cartman nearly bowls him over. Whirling around, Kyle glares up at the taller teen. "If you're not at my house at _exactly_ four-thirty, I'm not taking you. Okay?"

"Jeeze, Kyle, don't get your panties in a bunch. I'll be there," Cartman says, as if Kyle were the one losing his temper. He trudges behind Kyle as the Jewish teen stalks off angrily. "Hey, Kyle, maybe I should stay at your place, so there's no chance of being late."

Kyle keeps walking, ignores the whining behind him. "No chance, fatass. Go home. Don't make me change my mind."

"But _Kyle_..."

"Go home!"

Cartman stops. The tone in Kyle's voice is dangerously close to the breaking point, and there is no way he will forfeit a trip to Casa Bonita. Without a word, he lets Kyle walk away, leaving himself standing on the edge of the sidewalk. Before the night is out, he'll have warm Casa Bonita in his stomach, and if Token keeps his promise, a cold beer in his hand.

Eric Cartman's life can't get any better than this.

It is exactly four-thirty when the chubby teen trundles up the Broflovski family driveway. Kyle is already standing beside his truck, the keys in his hands. He hesitates for a moment, almost goes back to the house and locks the door, but he jams the key into the door, pops it open, and climbs in. Cartman opens the passenger door eagerly, pulling himself in and grinning at Kyle. No doubt a grin that nearly changes Kyle's mind, but once he's gone through with something, he can't well get out of it. He just _cant_. Its in his blood, or something. Cartman would explain it better.

"Oh, man, Casa Bonita. I can hardly wait. When I get there, I'm gonna..."

"Cartman, shut the hell up. Where's the money?" Kyle asks, holding the keys in his hand, staring at the other.

"You get the money when we get there, you filthy Jew," Cartman snaps, glaring back. No doubt his mind is working on comebacks, but he knows to say them would mean not going to Casa Bonita. Instead, he scoffs and stares straight ahead. "I have it."

"Right," Kyle says, rolling his eyes. He jams the keys into the ignition, bringing the car to life as he backs out of the driveway. He stops halfway, looking out at the sidewalk. Stan Marsh is standing there, staring at the truck quizzically. Kyle shrugs as he rolls the window down. "Hey, Stan," he calls.

"Dude, where are you going?" Stan asks, walking up to the truck. He spots Cartman and frowns, but keeps his mouth shut.

Kyle fidgets nervously, thinking of anything to say. Unfortunately, the only thing he can say is the truth, especially to his best friend. "Uh, nowhere. Just Denver. I'll be back in a few hours."

"Okay, dude. Whatever you want. I'm going to Wendy's." Stan gives a final look at Cartman before sighing and waving them out the driveway. He doesn't walk towards Wendy's, though. Not until the truck with the unusual pair disappears around the corner, headed towards the freeway. No doubt, he questions his friend's sanity and Cartman's intentions, but he can't say anything with the fatass actually there.

Cartman is turned around in the seat, watching Stan's shape disappear. "Your little boyfriend looks sad," he observes, turning back in his seat to watch the road ahead of them.

Kyle takes a sharp turn onto main road, causing his companion to slide across the slick leather seats. "He's not my boyfriend, asshole."

"Sure, of course not. You just kissed in fifth grade on a dare, and I just _happen_ to have a picture of it," Cartman says lazily.

Kyle stares across the seat, mouth open in disbelief. "It _was_ a dare, asshole! Kenny kissed Tweak, too, but you don't call _them _boyfriends!"

"They don't hang out all the time, either," Cartman points out. He sits back in his seat, grinning ear to ear as Kyle fumes behind the wheel. This is their friendship, and this is how it has always been. Neither of them have made a motion to end it so far, and Cartman isn't sure either of them know how. They go back to the diaper days, and friends like that are hard to come by. Even if they're more frenemies than friends, they have a long history together.

The truck pulls onto the freeway, and the pair stay in silence. Most of what they have to say is just insults anyway, and they both need to save their breath for whatever party Token has invited the infamous Eric Cartman to. Kyle wonders why he hasn't been invited, or why he hasn't heard about it, but he knows its because Token has grown up since grade school. Their entire class has. In the six years since fifth grade, South Park's class has grown up. Token is more likely to hang out with the popular kids than he is to hang out with his own classmates. His parties have moved from his parent's house into Denver, where he has been known to rent out hotels and restaurants for his friends. How Eric Cartman was invited, Kyle has yet to figure out. The thought of someone wanting Cartman at their party is puzzling enough for the Jewish boy.

They hit the outskirts of Denver, and Cartman perks up at the nearness of Casa Bonita. His obsession with food is legendary, and his love of that restaurant is infamous. Certainly, Butters could tell a few stories about the incident. Kyle follows Cartman's directions as he gives them, pulling into the parking lot next to the black escalade owned by Token. Compared to the vehicle, Kyle's beat up truck resembles a remnant from a scrap yard.

Cartman doesn't wait for the truck to turn off. He opens the door and begins the trek to the front door. Kyle sighs in exasperation and follows his childhood friend to the front door. Upon entering the restaurant, he notices the occupants are all from the junior and senior class of South Park. Token and his closest friends sit at the very far table, and radiating out from them are people from different social groups. Kyle follows Cartman to a seat, wondering what memo went out that he didn't get. As he takes his seat near Cartman, he notices a familiar shock of blonde hair at the table beside them.

"Kenny?" he asks.

"Oh, hey dude," Kenny says, turning around from the table he occupied. Around him, three girls and a particularly feminine guy were staring at him in rapt attention. No one knows why the self-proclaimed sex god of the school is the poorest kid in South Park, nor why anyone wants to sleep with him, but he constantly has people lined up to ask him to bed. "I didn't know you were coming."

"I didn't either," Kyle says, looking at Cartman. "I'm glad you're here. I might go crazy with only _him_ as company."

"Ay, I heard that, Jew. You think I'm happy to be seen with you?"

Kenny grins, shrugging his thin shoulders. "Like old times, dude" he says, pushing away from his table. The four would-be suitors give him puppydog eyes, but his first responsibility is always his friends, and always will be. He pulls th chair next to Kyle out, whips it around, and straddles the seat, resting his arms on the backrest as he leans over the table. "Where's Stan?"

"He's at Wendy's," Kyle answers. Since high school started, a wedge has been driven between the normally inseparable duo. The wedge's name is Wendy Testaburger, and is a sore spot with Kyle. On the other hand, there is Kenny. Kenny, who, not three weeks ago, slept with Wendy while Stan was in a football game. In the natural way of things, Wendy has missed her last period and is now begging Kenny _not_ to tell one of his best friends of his betrayal. Normal, high-school drama. It comes standard with every seventeen year old teenager.

Kenny quickly changes the subject, instead motioning to Cartman. "Explanation?" he asks.

"Uh, yeah," Kyle says, frowning. He flounders for an answer, but comes up with none. Before he is about to open his mouth, he is cut off.

"I gave him twenty dollars to drive me down here," Cartman answers, flagging down a waiter.

"You said ten, and you haven't even paid me, fatass" Kyle retorts.

Kenny whistles softly. "Ten bucks gets you into a truck with this asshole? How much gets you in bed, sweet cheeks?"

Kyle kicks the horny blonde in the shin, smiling despite the insinuation. His blonde friend has always had a high sex drive, and it is no surprise to any of them that it crosses over to both teams. "Never," he says confidently.

"Then how about a drink, and we'll see?" Kenny asks.

"Drink?"

"Yeah, Token paid off the entire staff to get us free drinks, too. He's loaded, man. If I don't get laid tonight, I'm going to quit trying," he laughs, looking back at the table of suitors that had yet to disperse to other locations.

Cartman jabs Kyle in the side. "Hey, asshole, order something," he demands. "We don't have all day."

Kyle points at an item on the menu in irritation. "I'll have that," he says.

"And a beer," Kenny adds, raising his hand. The waiter looks disgruntled, but writes it down anyway. He moves to the next table, taking the order of Kenny's faithful.

Cartman rolls his eyes. "Fuckin' weak," he says.

"What?" Kyle asks defensively.

"You ordered from the kid's menu and you got a beer."

"_I_ didn't get a beer!" Kyle protests.

"Yes, you did."

"I don't drink, dude! My mom will kill me!"

"She won't know. Stop being such a pussy all the time, Kyle."

Kenny snickers behind his hand, realizing at the last second his parka no longer covers his face and distorts everything he says. "Sorry, dude, it's just funny. I can't wait to see you plastered."

"Thanks a lot, Kenny," Kyle groans.

"Sure thing, dude."

"So what kind of party is this, anyway?" Kyle asks, looking around. The groups of people are hard to categorize. He can see Bebe Stevens, sitting with several of the popular high school jocks. Two tables over, he spots the kids who claimed to be vampires, dressed in normal clothes and sipping Bloody Mary drinks through thin straws. For the life of him, he can't figure out the party's purpose.

Kenny shrugs. "Token just said he's having a homecoming party," he answers. "Told everyone who wanted to come to meet at Casa Bonita. That's where fatass overheard."

"I am not fat," Cartman retorts angrily.

"Whatever. You eat more than anyone I know."

"So Token is just spending his money?" Kyle asks, steering the conversation back on track.

Kenny looks around, leaning closer to Kyle over the backrest of his seat. "You didn't hear?" he asks quietly.

"No, I don't think I have."

Making sure no one is listening, Kenny gestures to Token's table. "His grandparents died and he got the inheritance money last week. After the food, we're going to their house in Denver for the rest of the party."

Kyle looks up as the waiter puts his drink down. A cold brown bottle of beer. He's unsure of the liquid, but he picks it up cautiously and takes a sip. The liquid slides down his throat, cool and refreshing with a bitter taste. He coughs, blinking a few times. "That's disgusting."

"You'll learn to love it," Kenny says, gulping liquid from his own bottle. "Keep drinking."

Kyle sighs, gulping down the liquid as quickly as he can without gagging on the bitter taste. Setting the empty bottle on the table, he looks at Kenny. "There," he says.

"About time, you fuckin' Jew," Cartman says, sipping from his own bottle. "Order another one. Or are you too much of a pussy?"

"No, I'm not," Kyle says, flagging down a waiter.

He's sitting on a couch, beer in one hand, laughing loudly with Kenny and Clyde Donovan about something one of them has said. He doesn't remember when the beer got there, or how many he's had. He only knows the taste is closer to enjoyable than bitter at this point. Cartman is missing, probably raiding the kitchen, not that he cares. He's enjoying himself in the company of others for once.

Kenny puts his arm around Kyle's shoulders, grinning madly. "I knew you'd be a fun drunk, you fuddy-duddy," he crows happily.

Kyle shrugs out from under the heavy arm. "I'm always fun. Right? Right, Clyde? I'm always fun. I'm Mr. Fun."

Clyde taps his beer against Kyle's, nodding. "Always fun," he answers.

Kenny pats his friend on the back. "I'm gonna go get laid, dude. See you in a while." He gets up, wobbles forward, and nearly tumbles into the arms of a pretty brunette and her red-head friend. The pair giggle, helping Kenny to his feet as they pull him away to one of the many rooms in the large house.

Token had described it as his grandparent's house, and Kyle hadn't doubted that. No reason to, when there is free beer in the fridge. Though, as he sits on the couch with Clyde for company, he realizes how badly he has to use the restroom. He also realizes that he doesn't know where the bathroom is. He gets up, waving absently to Clyde as he balances his beer.

"I'm gonna go find Cartman," he says, walking towards the hallway. He moves down until he finds the kitchen. Standing at the center island, Cartman is making a sandwich, sipping from a beer as he does so, humming off-key to himself. Kyle bumps into the island, setting his now empty beer down. "I have to piss," he declares.

"That's nice, Jew," Cartmain replies.

"I have to _piss_," he repeats.

"What do you want me to do about it?"

"Where's the bathroom?"

Cartman looks up, them back at his sandwich. "I don't know, go find it yourself," he grunts.

Kyle reaches into the fridge for another drink, pulling one out of the very back. He walks back to the island, setting the beer against the counter and pulling the cap off. He takes a sip, watching Cartman make his sandwich with the care and concern of a drunken sailor. There is more alcohol in him than he lets on, and Kyle wonders why the taller teen isn't as drunken as himself.

Cartman puts the sandwich down, glaring at him. "Come on, follow me," he growls, leaving the kitchen.

"Where are we going?" Kyle slurs, stumbling after Cartman. They leave the kitchen, walking down the hallway. The taller of the two is climbing up the stairs, knocking people aside as he passes. Kyle apologizes profusely to the other party-goers, nearly spilling his drink on them. They reach the landing, take a left down the long hallway.

"I don't know," Cartman confesses, pushing doors open as they walk down the mostly empty hallway. "Gotta find a fuckin' bathroom, I feel like I'm gonna fuckin' hurl and I don't want you pissin' yourself."

"This one?" Kyle asks, pushing a heavy oak door open. He immediately pulls it shut, sputtering on his drink. Vodka, or something similar. Cartman comes up behind him, reaches around to open the door.

"What's in there, pussy?" he demands.

Kyle pushes him away from the door, shaking his head, a solemn look on his face. "I never want to see naked Craig again," he says quietly.

"Oh, sick, man," Cartman says, waving the air away as if that can change the image in his head. "You think they could lock the door or something. Fuckin' faggots."

"Actually, I think he was with Bebe," Kyle answers, trailing behind Cartman as they search more cautiously for the bathroom. Kyle has needed to pee for hours. Even before they left Casa Bonita.

"Isn't Bebe dating some asshole from the football team?" Cartman asks.

"I don't know," Kyle mutters.

"Here's the bathroom," Cartman announces, pushing the door open.

Inside, the black toilet shines among the black sink and black claw foot tub. The gold colored ffixtures accent the pale gray wall, lending an elegant feel. Neither of them cares enough to take in the expensive taste of the bathroom. Kyle stumbles in, pushes the seat on the toilet up, and fumbles with the zipper on his pants. He forgets his button, and has to stop a moment to go back.

"Dude, fucking sick, wait till I close the door at least," Cartman scowls, turning around. He doesn't close the door, perhaps the alcohol talking to him. He hears Kyle's urine stream hit the toilet, no doubt splashing everywhere. The Jew can hardly walk, let alone aim his piss. He can't hold liquor, either. After the second shot of tequila, he was stumbling around like a drunken sailor. That was three hours ago. With the party in full swing, the Jew stood no chance at all.

Kyle zips his pants back up, leans over to flush the toilet. "That felt great," he says, swaying on his feet as he turns to Cartman.

The chubbier teen turns his head cautiously, giving Kyle a strange look. "You're sick, dude. I don't want to see your wang."

"Whatever, you didn't have to look," Kyle retorts. He takes a few faltering steps towards the door, slips on the tile, and falls with a startled shout. His arms flail out uselessly, grabbing nothing but air to catch himself. He cracks his head against the sink before landing on the floor, still.

Cartman stares in muted disbelief. He doesn't find a single word to say in his extensive vocabulary. He just looks at the red-head, as if it didn't happen. He is afraid of the possibilities, afraid that Kyle might be dead, or worse, in a coma. Or, worse yet passed out, meaning Cartman has to carry him down the stairs and explain to the entire party what they were doing in a bathroom together. With few choices, he quickly slams the door, fighting against the lock before deciding its too much to handle for his drunken brain.

Kyle stirs, pushes himself up. "Oh, sick, I think I missed the toilet," he observes in a slur, reaching for the toilet paper. He dabs at the floor cautiously with a wash rag, staring at the spot in infinite concentration.

Cartman sighs in irritation."You're under the sink, retard," He grunts, reaching down to grab Kyle under the armpits, lifting him to a wobbly standing position. "You pissed on the tub, though."

Catching his balance, the Jewish teen blinks rapidly, attempting to clear his vision. "Oh, shit," he grumbles. He sways on his feet, and Cartman grabs his shoulders to keep him steady. "Why aren't you this drunk?"

"Because I can hold liquor, unlike your skinny Jew ass." Cartman pauses, realizing how close their faces are in such a small space. He notices the vibrant green of Kyle's eyes, sees the red curl peeking out from under a faded South Park Cows baseball cap. The curly red hair that he spent so long trying to tame every morning, and the hair that Cartman picked on him for. The Daywalker has a way of getting into his head, and he feels the tug in his stomach pull harder. Another day, he would tell himself he is hungry. Today, he knows better. That familiar tug is one of desire, a feeling he's been repressing for nearly four years.

"Why are you staring at me?" Kyle asks, screwing his face up into a look of puzzlement.

Cartman finds no answer, and does the only thing his mind is telling him to. He leans forward, pressing his lips to Kyle's. In the four years of high school, Cartman has not kissed anyone. His last kiss was Bebe Stevens in eighth grade, on a dare, and Bebe had nearly thrown up. He hopes Kyle's reaction is different. Much different. Thankfully enough for the normally-rejected fatboy, Kyle tries to push him away, but doesn't put his whole effort into it.

Realizing his mistake, realizing the consequences, Cartman pulls away, staring at the Jew in anger and disbelief. Kyle stared back, just as confused, before grabbing Cartman's hand and pulling him closer. The two collapse against the wall, Kyle's hands pulling the taller boy towards him, tangling in his shirt. Cartman's left hand is planted against the wall, his right pressed against the small of Kyle's slender back. Their lips meet in a fiery kiss, and a small moan escapes Kyle's lips. His drink is forgotten on the sink, the party a distant memory. In his world, he and Cartman are all that exist. His knees go weak, and the taller catches him, holding him tightly while trailing rough kisses down his neck. He moves Kyle's thin shirt to the side, biting his shoulder. Kyle gasps, his hands clenching around Cartman's back.

"Wait," Kyle gasps, inhaling sharply. "The party..."

"Fuck the party. Bunch of fucking faggots, anyway," Cartman responds, pushing Kyle against the wall.


	3. Chapter 3

**note ;;** Hello again! I've been in a writing slump lately, so those of you waiting for Next! and Blue Eyes, I probably wont be updating them for a week, at least. Terribly sorry about that. I'm working six days a week, and I only write on my lunch breaks. While chowing Ramen, like a true author. I apologize greatly for the small length of this chapter. I got to the end of what I thought to be the second part, and I couldn't bring myself to add more to this one. I like how it ends. As always, reviews are loved.

**personal note ;;** I despise the six letter F word that Cartman is so often spewing. It certainly does not reflect my views, the heinous amount of times his foul mouth spits it out. Its simply part of the character.

**warning / disclaim ;; **Swearing, steamy scenes, the six letter 'f' word, etc. I don't own South Park.

* * *

School has never been so awkward in ten years. They pass in the halls without a glance, without a single jab. In their only class together, they sit far apart. It is not unusual, except that they have been lab partners for the last three weeks, and neither of them touched their bacteria cultures the entire period. Fortunately for them, the substitute teacher didn't see, and thus didn't send them both to detention. What an _awkward_ detention that would be.

Kyle doubts if Cartman remembers, and Cartman doubts if Kyle remembers. And if either remembers the events at Token's party, it is doubtful how _much_ they remember. Neither will bring it up because both are significantly embarrassed by their actions. It is why, instead of trailing home with his three friends as he has every day for ten years, Cartman chooses to stay in the building, milling near his locker until the last of the stragglers have gone to their after-school activities or started the walk home.

Having never stayed after school a day in his life, the pleasantly plump teen decides to wander the halls. During the school day, he is too busy pushing Freshmen around and asserting his dominance over anyone younger or smaller than him. As he looks at the displays on the walls of the High School, he notices how many pictures are of Kyle and Stan together. Kyle and Stan at a junior varsity football game, grinning and waving around a _Cows_ jersey like faggots. Kyle and Stan sitting in the library, noses buried in text books like a pair of goody two-shoes. There are startlingly few photos of Stan _without_ Kyle, and even fewer photos of Kyle without Stan. Even Stan's feminist banshee of a girlfriend, Wendy, isn't in as many pictures with Stan.

This realization makes his blood boil.

"What does that faggot have that _I_ don't?" he demands quietly of Kyle's grinning image, turning away from the _Seniors Photo Wall_ displaying the source of his irritation. He doesn't notice that he is not pictured _once_ on the wall, and he doesn't notice that his pace is quickening towards the door. Deep in his mind, he is desperately analyzing every shred of evidence he has fueling his anger. As the pieces fall into place, he stops dead in the doorway, only stumbling out of the way once the heavy metal door smacks him in the ass as it closes, leaving him alone in the silent entrance.

"I fucking _hate_ Kyle," he tells himself angrily, hearing the hollow echo back. He knows he is lying, that the truth is, he is _in love_ with Kyle. This knowledge doesn't quell the anger in him, it makes it grow. If _he_ is in love with Kyle, why is the red-head always with Stan? Why isn't the fragile-looking Jew with _him_ instead? Questions rage through his head, and jealously jumps into his throat. He knows at once where his feet are taking him, and deep in the back of his mind, he is afraid of _himself_, afraid of his own motives. It is a small part, surrounded by a jealous rage, and though he will be conscious of it in later recollections of the events about to take place, it is just another part of his mind screaming at him to _stop_.

No part of his mind will ever be large enough to override his impulsive instincts.

He doesn't have a car, but Kyle has his truck, and as Cartman leaves out the wide metal doors of the school, he notices that it is still parked in the lot. Standing beside it, juggling keys, books, and an expensive laptop as he tries to open the rusty door, is Kyle Broflovski. The object of Cartman's increasingly jealous, misguided anger. Suddenly, his half-formed plan melts into a puddle of goo at the bottom of his _idea pit_ and he sets his feet in the direction of Kyle. What he is going to do, what he is going to say, he doesn't know.

He knows Kyle has no idea he is there, and it makes him intensely happy as he grabs the red-head's arm. Kyle yelps, dropping everything except his laptop. In another situation, Cartman would make a snip about Jews and protecting money, but right now, he is shoving the Jew against the truck, pinning him.

"What the fuck, fatass?" Kyle snaps angrily, chest heaving as he holds the laptop defensively between the two, as if he will hit Cartman at any second. "Let me go."

"No," Cartman says stupidly, defiantly. He is suddenly aware of how little he has planned this, but reminds himself that _nothing_ is new. He has a plan, to a point, and then sees nothing past his desired outcome.

"Eric Cartman, let me go. Now," he repeats, voice growing dangerously low.

Tightening his grip, the taller boy stares down, a mix of confusion, anger, and sadness across his face. Like most of his plans, he has again failed to produce his desired outcome, but he is too pig-headed to admit to his own faults.

"Dude, what the fuck are you staring at?" Kyle asks angrily, struggling feebly against the stronger teen. "Let me-"

Cartman presses him against the truck, roughly pressing their lips together, eliciting a moan of confusion and excitement from the helpless Jew. He moves his right hand, grabbing Kyle's hair and pulling his head back. He trails thick kisses down Kyle's neck, biting down on his shoulder. Kyle shivers, and Cartman pushes him back against the truck.

"I own you," he growls.

Kyle is panting, a growing bulge in his pants giving him away. He has never admitted to anyone, not even Stan, that he is _into_ guys more than girls. In sixth grade, he and Stan had experimented, and he developed a crush, as all best friends do. He thought it was normal. Now, with a tingling through his entire body and a pulsing erection, he knows he isn't into girls _at all_. It takes him minutes, it seems, to understand what has happened. He sputters, fighting against Cartman's grasp. "What? No, that's not how it works!"

"This isn't Disney, Jew Scout," he responds, giving him a long glare before letting his wrists go. "You're mine."

"Walt Disney _hated_ Jews! Where do you get your facts?" Kyle asks, bewilderment crossing his face.

Scoffing, Cartman moves Kyle out of the way and pops open the drivers door. "There," he says.

For a long moment, Kyle only stares. It crosses his mind several times that Cartman has done something nice for him. Each time he remembers the crude comments, and he finally shakes his head. He picks his things up and shoves them in the front seat, being careful with his laptop. "You're a jackass," he mumbles angrily, a flush crossing his cheeks.

"You like it, faggot."

"Goddamnit, Cartman. What is wrong with you?" Kyle asks, turning to face him. "Do you _remember_ what happened at Token's party? Do you _remember _what we said?"

Cartman glares. "Well, _yeah_," he bluffs defiantly.

"No, you _don't_," Kyle corrects. "We agreed to _never_ talk about it, _never_ bring it up, and _never, for fuck's sake,_ _do it again!_" His voice grows louder, and he is practically yelling by the end.

Too late, Cartman remembers their demented pillow talk. Remembers staring into bright green eyes as they agreed to never do it again, and felt the regret sink to the bottom of his stomach. He laughs uneasily, the grin on his face unsure. "Yeah, right," he says. "I was just fucking with you, stupid Jew. And you fell for it."

"No you weren't, fatass!" Kyle rages. He moves the driver's door of the truck between them. "Leave me the fuck alone. Stay _away_ from me. Don't talk to me, don't sit by me, don't even think you know me. You piss me off and I'm sick of your shit."

Kyle slams the door, fumbling with the keys as he starts the engine. Cartman watches in uncharacteristic silence as the fiery redhead drives away. He can see the tears shimmering as they cascade down the teen's cheeks, then he is gone, pulling onto the street and squealing the tires. Alone in the parking lot, Cartman doesn't move. He follows the truck with his blank gaze, watching as it disappears down main street. As he pulls his cell phone out of his pocket, a hot tear lands on his hand and he wipes it away in disgust.

Eric Cartman doesn't cry, definitely not for some Jew faggot.

* * *

Kenny sits at the park, perching on a pink piggy bouncing seat. His eyes are on the wood chips he continues to disturb as he slowly rocks back and forth on the piggy in utter boredom. Cartman is sitting on a bench, having said that sitting anywhere else is being 'too kiddy.' He is watching Kenny for the right moment, and Kenny is simply waiting for the stupid questions or insults that will come out of the fat teen's mouth.

"You're going to help me," Cartman says, though he isn't as forceful as usual.

Kenny rolls his eyes. "Are you going to harvest my kidneys?" he asks. "Because if you are, I'd rather you just kill me after, instead of leaving me in the bathtub to die. Again."

Cartman kicks wood chips at the financially challenged teen, shaking his head. "No, asshole, I need you to tell me how to make someone like you."

Kenny's boredom is suddenly and fiercely replaced by absolute shock. His head jerks up and he stares at Cartman with an open mouth. "Holy shit, dude," he says quietly. "Eric Cartman _needs_ help and he's _asking_ goddamned _polite _for it? Holy _fuck_, I need a drink, I think Hell froze over, did I get killed again?"

"Shut up. Do it, or so help me, Kenny, I'll cut your balls off and shove them down your throat," Cartman threatens.

Kenny just laughs. "You're pathetic. You can't even come up with a good threat. Who do you like? I'll just talk to them-"

"You don't need to know," Cartman cuts him off.

"Fine, fine," Kenny agrees, his feet digging into the wood chips as he stops his slow bouncing. "You just need to tell her. Maybe spread a few rumors around that you have a huge schlong, but we all know that's not true."

"Fuck you, faggot," Cartman retorts.

"You'd like it too much," Kenny says. "Really, what do you want from me? I can't get you a girl, dude. And I'm not sharing mine."

"I don't want your skanky whores," Cartman says, dismissing the mere possibility.

"Then find your own skanky whore. Go to Raisins."

"You're useless. I hate you, Kenny."

"I hate you too," Kenny responds.

"Good. We're on the same page, then," Cartman says, becoming all-business as he usually does when he is trying to wheedle someone out of their money. A glint sparks in his eye, and that grin creeps across his face. It has been only three hours since his stinging rejection in the school parking lot, but it takes more than that to make Eric Theodore Cartman call it quits. He puts his hands together in his familiar gesture. "I'll give you my lunch every Tuesday."

Kenny stares, blinking. "Salisbury Steak Day," he clarifies.

Cartman nods solemnly in confirmation. "Yes. Salisbury Steak Day. The best day in South Park."

"No shit," Kenny says, breathing heavily out his nose. "What do I have to do?"

"Never breath a word about helping me to _anyone_, Kenny. Not Stan, not _Kyle_, and not Butters." Cartman lets this sink in before continuing. "You have to make me look nice."

Kenny breaks out in fits of laughter. He nearly falls off the piggy as he holds his sides, laughter rolling out his mouth in an unending cascade of mirth. Cartman doesn't see this as funny, and Kenny tries to straighten his face. "You... haha, you're _serious?_" he asks between giggles.

"Goddamnit, Kenny! This is not funny!" he roars, stomping his foot. "You're the only asshole I can bribe to help me!"

"You got that right," Kenny replies, wiping tears with the back of his hand, still chuckling to himself every time he thinks of the request. "What _exactly _do I do?"

"I'm going to help you in class, and you're going to start telling everyone how nice I'm being. I'm going to be nice to Butters, too. You have to tell _everyone_, Kenny. Even Stan and Kyle. They have to believe you."

Kenny shakes as he controls his giggles, grinning. "Yeah, Cartman, that's _really_ going to work. Are you sure you don't want me to just tell her you have a huge schlong, you're good in bed, and you once fucked a porn star?"

"Sick, dude. I'll just stick to my way."

"She's not that kinda girl?"

Cartman looks at Kenny for a moment, a frown on his face, before shaking his head. "I don't think so," he says.


	4. Chapter 4

**note;** I love you guys, really, I do! I'm sorry I failed so hard at updating this a few months ago, and I'm sorry that it might be a while before the next update as well. I'm finally feeling the writing bug again, and I am entirely too happy about it! Hope to finish some of the things I've started, and hope to write even more than before.

**other notes;** I forget. I was watching Cowboy Bebop when I wrote this. I like pie? Please continue reading. I hope you enjoy it.

* * *

The horn has been blaring for at least ten minutes, and Cartman finally realizes his mother isn't home to take care of the nuisance outside his window. Where she is, he's not sure. She disappears more now, maybe because he knows about her past or because she's trying to live her life. Either way, Cartman has not seen her for two days, and this is not strange to him at all. He huffs angrily as he walks down the stairs, adding scoffs of irritation even though he knows she cant hear him wherever she is. Pushing the door open and flipping the porch light on, he stops dead at who he sees in the driveway. Kyle's beat up truck is idling, and the red-head is laying on the horn with a look of determination on his face. The last rays of the autumn sun creep over the rooftops, catching the curls in Kyle's hair, casting a warm glow on his otherwise pale face.

Cartman can't possibly hate him more than he loves him right now.

That doesn't stop him from storming over to the truck, ready to give the Jew a piece of his mind. He is opening his mouth when Kyle promptly interrupts him, rolling the window down furiously and completely ignoring attempts at contact. The anger rolling from the cab of the truck in waves is enough to stop any normal person from arguing, but Cartman isn't a normal person.

"Get in," Kyle orders sternly, staring the larger teen down.

"What? No fuckin way, Jew-boy," Cartman retorts, completely forgetting what he wants to bitch about in the first place.

"Get in this fucking truck, fatass! _Right fucking now_!" Kyle snarls, clearly in no mood to deal with Cartman's attitude. He points viciously to the passenger seat, glaring as if just _daring_ the fatass to say anything against it. He should know better at this point in their messed up relationship.

Apparently, he still doesn't get it.

"No, I'm not going anywhere with you," Cartman says, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Eric Theodore Cartman, if you don't get in this fucking truck _right now_ I swear to god, I will tell _everyone_ you still sleep with Clyde Frog!"

Cartman stares at the outraged Jew for a moment before scoffing. "Well, Jesus, Kyle, you don't have to be a bitch about it," he mumbles, walking around the rumbling truck to get in the passenger side. He slides into the seat, wiggling to get comfortable. "Why are your panties in a bunch anyway?"

Kyle doesn't answer until the door slams shut and he is reversing out of the driveway, a fire behind his cool green eyes. He seems to take forever before he finally grabs the words he needs to address whatever crisis is at hand. "The entire school is saying you're nice," he spits angrily.

"Well, Kyle, I am nice," Cartman wheedles, intensely glad that paying off Kenny has worked so well. Already, and it has only been three days. A good investment, indeed.

Kyle doesn't seem to think so, can see right through it when the whole school is going with the flow. Leave it to him to pull the cunning teen into the open. "No, Cartman, you're not. Ever. So what the hell are you trying to do?"

There is no way out of it, really, but Eric always tries to find a way. Before he can open his mouth, Kyle is taking a sharp turn onto the road leading past Stark's pond. Suddenly, things are interesting, and Cartman redirects his words. "Where are we going?"

Kyle looks at him sharply, eyes narrowing, before turning back to the road. "Don't change the subject," he says sternly. "Why are you being nice to everyone?"

"I thought it would be obvious, Kyle," he says offhandedly. "It is my birthday in two weeks."

Kyle almost takes the lie hook, line, and sinker, has a look that says he is content, but he glances over in time to catch that little crease in Eric's forehead. "Stop lying, fatass," he snaps. "Butters says you stopped Malcolm Douglas from beating him up and taking his lunch money. And you didn't even demand payment."

Cartman tries to say what a wonderful person he is, but Kyle presses on.

"Bebe – _Bebe Stevens_, Cartman – says you bought her a pair of shoes. You don't buy people anything. You even brought Tweek Tweak coffee one morning. I saw you do it."

Cartman again attempts to point out his good deeds, but Kyle snaps his hand up, holding it out in the _'shut up or so help me'_ position.

"What I couldn't get is why they're all telling me these things. I couldn't figure it out until Kenny said something."

"That dirty bastard," Cartman breathes quietly, clenching his fist.

"You did pay him, didn't you?" Kyle demands.

Cartman curses Kyle's intelligence. Once again, he has underestimated the Jew. "No! Why would I pay anyone?" he demands back.

"I don't know! You want to get at me for something, I just can't figure out what," Kyle says. It is the natural order of things. They've never had a peaceful time in their lives, they've always been fighting. Ever since they can remember. Kyle huffs quietly, staring at the road. Stark's Pond flows by, and for a while everything is quiet. They are on the south side of town, just outside limits, where things aren't really South Park but they aren't really anywhere else either.

"Alright, I paid him," Cartman admits darkly, folding his arms over his chest and sinking into the seat, chin resting on the diagonal belt. Kyle makes a sound of victory, and Cartman kicks the glove compartment in a childish pout. "But it's not what you're thinking."

"Then explain," Kyle says.

Cartman considers it for all of five milliseconds before scoffing. "I don't know how."

"Then how do you know it's not what I'm thinking?" Kyle questions.

"I just do, okay? I know you."

Silence.

The words are small and meaningless to anyone else, but Kyle picks up on it immediately. Barely daring to shift his gaze from the road, he darts his eyes to his companion, catching a glimpse of the red blush falling over Eric's cheeks, the way his jaw is set in frustration. Kyle tries to make the words mean anything else, tries to change the way Cartman said them. Nothing works, and the only thing he can hear is the unveiled tenderness in those words. Something Eric Cartman is not particularly well known for. Something that, up until this point, Kyle thought Cartman saved only for his ancient, tattered cat in moments where he thought no one was listening.

To hear it directed at himself gives him a reality check.

"Happy now?" Cartman asks grumpily. After no answer, he huffs and looks out the window. "Where are we going?"

"Vegas," Kyle snarks, rolling his eyes. He needs to get the taste of the last conversation out of his mouth. He needs to before he goes mad overanalyzing it. Something else has been bothering him for some time, and now this something else seems to be closer than he expects.

"Cute," Cartman deadpans. "Gonna get hitched?"

"Shove it, fatass."

Kyles tone suggests the end of the conversation. Cartman stares out the window as the Colorado landscape goes by. School is kicking up into the year. Winter is around the corner. Token's Homecoming bash (thrown most likely out of his own pocket and for nothing related to homecoming in the least, except maybe his return to his grandparent's house on the weekends since they left it in his name, the lucky bastard) is a memory lingering weeks behind them and pouncing out when least expected. Everything, except that time between them. The time that, as far as they know, no one else is privy to. Cartman winces at the thought of anyone knowing. Bad enough he did it, worse if they knew. Right? He'll keep Kyle a secret, a nasty little tidbit on the both of them, and he will protect that secret. Like an unwanted pregnancy, he will abort all thoughts of Kyle and what happened in Token's house.

Cartman grunts, because he knows it will be impossible. Just telling himself not to think about it has a bulge growing in his pants and he hopes Kyle ignores him, like usual. It wouldn't do to confirm the Daywalker's suspicions. Cartman wont let him have that satisfaction. He shifts in the seat, pretending great interest in the sun as it sinks below the western horizon, but he is not at all captivated by the glowing orange ball in the sky. His thoughts are elsewhere, running slower and slower as his mind winds down. He is tired, he is embarrassed, and he wants to go home. With Kyle in the drivers seat, he isn't sure when he might have the chance.

/

"Wake up."

Jolting out of his slumber, he flails for the door, but meets only air. Kyle stands beside the open passenger door, determination written on his face. Cartman at once stops flailing, composing himself enough to observe their quaint surroundings. Denver, that much is clear. Somewhere in the seedier side of Denver, far from his favorite restaurant, far from the luxury of Token's new mansion. They are in the parking lot of a two-level motel that looks like it has seen better days, Kyle jingling keys in his hand nervously. It is his only tell, and Cartman has a hard time believing he is nervous from the way the rest of his body is working.

"Come on."

"A motel?" Cartman asks warily.

Kyle fidgets for just a second before steeling himself. "It's dark," he answers.

"So we really are going to Vegas."

Kyle sets his jaw, moving away from the truck and pulling a bag from the bed. Curious, Cartman slides to the end of the seat, stepping out of the truck and stretching. After closing the door and making sure things are hunkey-dory with the truck for the night, he saunters behind Kyle to the room. Their room. The room that Kyle paid for while he was sleeping. Kyle has only one key. There is only one room, and one key means...

The door opens under the Jew's slender hand, and before Kyle can step in, Cartman lunges forward, his hand snaking around the side of the door frame and flipping the switch. Dim yellow light casts over the lonely, single bed, flanked by cheap end tables. At the foot of the only bed is a dresser with a television, and beside the television is the small closet and the bathroom, divided into two sections. Cartman feels his body react, jerking him back from the doorway before he has time to stop himself from blurting.

"You got the wrong room," he ejects.

Kyle prods him into the motel, closing the door behind them. "No," he says, slinging the bag to the floor. "Go sit down."

Cartman can't do anything but obey. He sits on the edge of the bed, as if it has fourth grade cooties. Kyle busies himself with tidying the place up, as if the maid didn't already make a clean sweep of it. When he is done, he turns off the main light, dropping them into darkness. Amidst Cartman's vocal, verbally explicit commentary, Kyle switches on the light of the lamp beside the bed. Feeling foolish, Cartman grumbles, looking anywhere but at Kyle.

"I don't know what this is," Kyle admits, standing beside the bed, looking at the floral print blanket. "I hate you."

Maybe they really did go to Vegas.

"Huh?"

Kyle stomps his foot childishly, his eyes darting up to meet Cartman's. "I _hate_ you, more than I've ever hated anyone before."

Cartman lifts his eyebrows, swaying back a bit. "Well, I'm glad we figured that out."

"No!" Kyle argues.

Bristling, the larger teen goes on the defensive. "No what? You hate me, and that's all there is to it."

"But it _isn't_!"

The silence that falls over the room could smother babies.

Gently as possible, Cartman eases himself off the bed, as if any sudden moves might provoke Kyle. The red-head stands still, his emerald eyes watching warily. With a fluttering stomach, Cartman takes a shaky step away from the bed. A breath slips out of Kyle's throat, a small whine trickling along with it. The sound is all Cartman can take, and he flees the room in a clumsy crash, the door swinging shut behind him.

Once outside, he doesn't know where he's going. He puts his feet to the ground and walks, the night air clearing out his head and his sinuses. Clenching his fists, he grits his teeth. Who did Kyle think he was? Who did he think he _was_? Where did he get off, telling Cartman something like that? What did he mean to start? What if...

He realizes he's stopped on the corner. His feet wouldn't take him any further. When he turns around to go back to the motel room, he spots Kyle, standing in the lot, beneath the light. It is too far to see the redhead properly, and Cartman walks back slowly. In speaking distance, he stops. They share a silent moment, and Kyle glances towards the truck.

"We're not driving back tonight," Cartman huffs.

"I wasn't thinking about going home, fatass" Kyle snaps. "I was going to sleep in the truck."

Cartman steps closer, taking Kyle by the wrist. "Don't."

Everything slows down as the pair walk to the room. Cartman barely remembers dropping Kyle's wrist in muted embarrassment, doesn't remember how he got under the covers. Only comes out of his haze as Kyle's warm body slides in next to him and he realizes the lights are off. His mind races, trying to picture anything but Kyle, bent over the sink in the bathroom of Token's grandparent's house. Anything but the taste of Kyle's tongue or the feel of Kyle's fingers across his skin. He tries to think about school, and Kenny, and that stunt with Cuthulu. He thinks about Gandalf and Family Guy, about Man-Bear-Pig... and his mind tracks back to Kyle, seeing Kyle die – nearly die – and that does the trick. His erection is limp before it properly begins and sleeping beside Kyle becomes more bearable.

Cartman opens his eyes to find Kyle staring at him in the gloom. There is concern in the emerald orbs, and Cartman turns away frumpily, rolling onto his side with his back to Kyle.

"You're crying."

The statement sends a shock through Cartman's system as he realizes there is a wetness on his cheeks. _When_? "No I'm not."

"Whatever you say," Kyle growls, flopping over on his side of the bed.

"You're a stupid filthy Jew," Cartman grumbles.

Kyle doesn't respond, and maybe that is what sets Cartman off.

"You're stupid," he continues, rolling over. "You're always being a dick to me," he spits, grabbing Kyle's shoulder. "You always say _'I told you so'_ when something goes wrong," he complains, forcing Kyle to turn towards him. "I fucking _hate_ you and _everything you are_," he says, all the anger leaving his voice as his forehead sinks to Kyle's. He closes his eyes, taking a deep breath. "But... I don't think..."

Kyle's lips brush his, and he isn't sure who made the move. A heartbeat passes, his eyes closed tight against whatever reality exists beyond them. Kyle makes the first move, shy and soft, unsteady. Cartman turns to putty on the receiving end of the kiss, fumbling awkwardly to match Kyle. Hands tremble through his hair, he slides his leg across bony hips, trapping Kyle between his legs. He isn't sure what he's doing, as one hand moves down Kyle's chest, lifting the shirt and breaking their kiss to take it off. There isn't a drunken haze here, he is painfully aware of how awkward he moves above Kyle's touches.

The darkness in the room hides the blush creeping across Cartman's face as he pauses, unsure of what sober move to make next. Kyle picks up on his indecision, pressing Cartman over to straddle his hips, reaching for a kiss. For once, Cartman lets someone else take control of the situation, and beneath all his hatred and tough posturing, he likes it.


End file.
